Riddles & RetrospectionsThe Arthur Gordon Years
by bibliophile tropicale
Summary: A sequel of sorts to The Thin Red Thread.  The title speaks volumes and the story continues...about those Arthur Gordon years.
1. Chapter 1

All the usual disclaimers apply.

A special thanks goes out to my special beta for the comments, corrections and humor.

I'd like to dedicate this story to CinnamonCarterfan who kindly requested another story in The Arthur Gordon Years...bibliophile tropicale

**The Arthur Gordon Years**

**_Riddles & Retrospections _**

Della Street stood at her desk organizing her life by levels of importance. Research and development protocols, project timelines, and defense contracts were needed for tomorrow's company meeting with members of the Nelson Institute; the rest would have to wait. The promotion to executive assistant had greatly expanded her duties and required a close working relationship with the company founder. The new connecting door between her office and Gordon's had been a life saver. Instead of communicating through the office intercom, Gordon was content to call through the open doorway to his new executive assistant.

"Della!" Gordon called from his desk.

"Yes!" she answered and stopped reviewing the reports in her hand while waiting for his reply.

"I can't find the report with those defense specs, do you have it?"

Scanning the materials on her desk she located the needed report and called out. "Yes, I have it." Rolling her eyes in frustration, it was beyond her understanding why a man in such a high tech business would prefer to yell through an open door rather than pressing the button on a modern tool of communication.

"Great!" he called, then added, "Are you rolling your eyes again, Della?"

Her lips pulled into a saucy grin and she shook her head; the man had certainly learned her habits.

There was a squeak of wheels and a thud at the connecting doorway. Still sitting in his office chair, Gordon had moved from behind his desk using his legs to propel the chair like a missile across his office to the doorway. He was watching her.

"What are…you…..doing?" She asked between moments of laughter. Gordon chuckled and grinned as he pushed across the office until he was by her side.

"Laugh all you want, I've been on my feet all day! Now, where's that report?"

Handing him the report, she chided. "You've made so much noise, Phyllis and Carol will wonder what we're doing in here."

"Humph! Phyllis and Carol be damned, I don't care what they think we're doing in here. It's my office and we'll make all the damn noise we want," he answered gruffly.

Looking at the report, Gordon jerked his head in the direction of the windows behind them. "Besides, have you looked outside?"

Della realized she had been so focused preparing for tomorrow's meeting she hadn't taken the time. Turning, she looked through the blinds and noticed the long shadows created by the sun slipping below the city skyline.

"Oh," she exclaimed, checking and shaking her watch.

Gordon gently took her forearm in his hand and stopped the examination of the watch. "There's nothing wrong with your watch, it's late…..almost eight o'clock. Phyllis and Carol have gone home."

_"What is it, Della?" he asked in a soft baritone, pausing while thumbing through his notes._

_ "My watch," she answered sitting beside him at his desk, shaking her watch, examining it. "I think it's stopped."_

_ Gently taking her wrist in his hand he stopped her examination. "There's nothing wrong with your watch, it's late. It's time for us to go home and call it day."_

_ "I know," she protested, placing her steno materials in her desk while glancing at his notes on the desk, "but we still haven't finished that brief."_

_ Retrieving their coats from the closet Mason replied, "Slave driver! It can wait till the morning."_

_ Slipping her coat over her shoulders he felt her exasperated sigh and quickly planted a placating kiss on her cheek. Turning in his arms, she circled his neck and kissed him lightly, then with restrained passion. Still pressed in his arms, eyes dark and dusky, she smiled slyly, enjoying how she could make his heart race and his eyes dreamy._

_ "So you think I'm a slave driver at the office, just wait till we get home," she taunted._

"Della, are you alright?" Gordon asked, watching his assistant stare at his hand on her forearm. Sheepishly he removed it.

"It's nothing," she answered lightly, nervously running her hand through her hair. "It's been a long, busy day, that's all."

"We could have dinner," Gordon suggested. "We're both tired. We'll have time in the morning before the meeting to finish up." Picking up on her quiet manner and hesitation, he quickly added, "That is if you don't have anything planned."

Staring at the watch on her arm, she realized it didn't matter what time it was, she didn't have any special plans for the evening. A cold nondescript chunk of casserole waited in her refrigerator for a zap in the microwave, followed by a hot bath, and a chapter or two in her current thriller/mystery, then bed. The evening was hardly glamorous.

"Won't you be missing dinner with your family?" she asked while casually placing the files in her briefcase.

Without looking up from the engineering specifications Gordon replied. "Katherine's out with her beau du jour, Lauren and Chris have their own lives, David's out hustling some risky investment I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole and my dear wife is shopping and golfing in Palm Springs. The house will be empty, except for Mrs. Jeffries. When Paula's away I'd rather eat out and the housekeeper knows it."

Gordon looked up from the specs and watched Della gracefully gathering the materials. "Maybe you're used to those warm family gatherings around the dinner table where everyone cheerfully shares their day, but my family dines together rarely and for many good reasons."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Della replied softly and closed her briefcase.

Suddenly he stood, straightened, chin elevated. "Don't feel sorry for me. I'm old enough, tough enough and surly enough to handle whatever comes my way. I didn't get to where I am by being weak and sentimental." With those words he turned, shoved his chair through the doorway and closed the door to his office with a snap.

Della ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled deeply in response to his brusque behavior and recalled their tumultuous beginning.

_"I won't tolerate rudeness," Della snapped, marching out of his office with Gordon hot on her heels. Standing by her side, face flushed with rage, he retorted, "How dare you! I won't be corrected by a secretary in my own office."_

_ Roughly shoving her steno pad and pens into the top drawer of her desk, she slammed it shut and calmly turned to face him. Cool dark eyes leveled to meet his fiery stare with equal intensity. "Well, then it's about time someone dared to correct your disrespect." _

_ Gordon gasped at her bold behavior and found he was at a loss for words as the slender secretary gracefully turned, walked to the file cabinet and retrieved her purse. Slipping on her coat, she turned to face the flustered executive and added, "I'll stop by in the morning for the rest of my things." Calmly she walked through the office and closed the door._

_ Returning the next morning with a small box to collect her belongings Della noticed guarded looks and whispers as she made her way to her desk. Little did she know it was not unusual for staffers to see Gordon's secretary carrying a box to clean out her desk. The box was like a red flag and signaled another failed sacrifice to the god of thunder, Arthur Gordon. _

_D__ella noticed in her peripheral vision a group of engineers waiting till she passed before pulling out a long sheet of paper resembling a tally sheet. Some grimaced while others grinned as they elbowed and pointed at the paper. She had heard whispers and rumors of a betting pool. It was a well-known fact that Arthur Gordon was a difficult and impossible task master. Fortunes were lost and won in the CEO's secretarial betting pool known sarcastically as the Mission Impossible Pool, or MIP. The newest sacrificial offering to the god of thunder, Della Street, had been given the code name, 'Cinnamon', by the engineers in honor of the brainy and beautiful Cinnamon Carter of Mission Impossible fame. The group of all male engineers felt the name was fitting for Gordon's new secretary. _

_Normally the outer office would be busy with staffers talking and laughing over coffee. Instead the room was hushed and anxious. Slowly she approached the dozen antique white roses boldly placed in the center of her desk. Suspiciously she looked around the office for the source before placing her box on the desk chair. She opened the small card attached to the vase and began to read while periodically pausing to glance up and observe the office personnel who pretended to work. They were all anxious to get the final word regarding the source of the white roses and her possible termination. _

_She had no idea tensions were running so high. A rumor had spread like wildfire concerning her impending termination and a possible MIP payout for some lucky staff member who had selected this as her final day. Anxious eyes watched as Arthur Gordon made his way to her desk carrying two cups of coffee. In the corner of the outer office a stifled groan of disappointment escaped and was quickly masked by a cough from another part of the office. _

_Della made sure to remain aloof, ignoring him, while reading his handwritten note. Nervously Gordon moved to stand next to her holding the two coffee cups like a dutiful servant. _

_Finally, when Gordon could stand it no longer he spoke softly so only she could hear. "They were out of white flags so I had to settle for white roses." _

_ Della fought to control a smile and allowed only an eyebrow to arch upright. She remained coolly silent._

_ Nervously watching her indifferent expression he continued in a whispered tone, "Uh, I ..uh…. put sugar and cream in your coffee. I think I made it the way you like it."_

_ Slowly, the secretary turned and eyed him critically as a lady of the manor might do while inspecting an insolent and mediocre servant. Noting her silence and the silence surrounding him in the large work area, the executive straightened, regained his pride and continued as though nothing had happened between them. _

_ Speaking loud enough for others to hear, Gordon grandly announced, "Miss Street, I will need your assistance in my office. I have an important letter to dictate." _

_Looking around at his silent workforce he continued softly for her ears only. "I would appreciate it if you could take the dictation and prepare the letter for me, please. I'll put your coffee in my office." He gestured with his head as he moved through the doorway._

_ On his departure, Della released an easy smile, placed the box on the floor and kicked it under her desk. Gracefully she bent and smelled each fragrant blossom. Glancing around the room she saw heads quickly turn, pretending to work at their desks. And for a moment she thought she heard a collective sigh…..or perhaps a groan. Taking her time she eased opened the desk drawer and retrieved her pen and steno pad. She hated rudeness, she just wouldn't tolerate it. _

Della smiled at the memory and expected any moment to see Gordon's head peeking through the doorway. Arthur Gordon was a gruff, abrasive, temperamental genius. Their first year had been difficult, but they had adapted, they had survived. Retrieving her coat and purse, she opened her exterior door and abruptly stopped. Gordon was waiting for her, his head lowered.

"I'm sorry I behaved that way, I shouldn't have snapped at you." He heaved a weary sigh. "It's just that you reminded me of how things used to be with my family. My first wife, Katia, the kid's mother, well, she suffered from manic depression," he continued without looking up, staring nervously down at his shoes. "I didn't know it at the time, and the doctors didn't pick up on it right away. It was rough on the kids.

"Katherine being the oldest found it the most difficult. Lauren and David were still very young. They couldn't understand why their mommie was not like the other mommies. During those manic times Katia was a ball of creative energy, constantly on the go, rarely sleeping."

Gordon toyed with the ring on his finger as he spoke. "We meet in college. She was a talented architect bursting with creativity and intellectual talent. Bright, charming, sociable, she was all that I wanted and all that I wasn't. She completed me and I loved her. My company was starting up and I asked her to marry me. Of course I encouraged Katia to continue her career after we were married. But she insisted on starting a family right away, she wanted to be a mother.

"She was a super wife and mother despite the bouts of what I thought was fatigue that would last several weeks at a time. I insisted she stay in bed and rest and felt she worked too hard. Unfortunately she never shared what she was feeling inside or the thoughts that filled her mind. You know I'm not easy when it comes to feelings and emotions. I'm an analytical man who finds comfort in order, logic and numbers. Looking back I always wished things could have been different. I guess I still carry the guilt that I could have done more."

Gordon's voice grew raspy. "Against my better judgment, Katia would send Mrs. Jeffries home and cook for us. I remember sitting as a family eating her extraordinary meals prepared with such love. I can still hear the kids laughing at mommy's stories - it was a magical time for my family." Pausing, the executive looked up with a bittersweet smile, nervously shuffled, then looked down again at his shoes. "Yes, it was magical."

After a moment he heaved a giant sigh and continued. "Then as the kids grew older she wanted to work. She took on an architectural project, you know, working from home, trying to restart her career. I remember the project specs stayed on her drafting table for a week, she hadn't touched them. That was so unlike her.

"Another week passed and calls began to come in from the client wanting to know why they had hadn't heard from her. I felt so helpless watching her slip away from us. There were days when she never left our bedroom, windows drawn making the room as silent as a tomb. I didn't know what to do for her. I had hoped the medications would bring her back, make her whole again, but instead they killed her. She waited till she was alone and overdosed." Releasing a relieved gasp, he added, "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I shouldn't burden you with this or expect you to understand."

Straightening, Gordon turned to face her. "Anyway, I had no right to snap at you."

Della replied earnestly, capturing his eyes, gently touching the sleeve of his coat with her hand. "I understand, Arthur, I really do. Oh, I can imagine what it's like to lose someone you love and feel the heartache. I know what it's like to watch someone you love slowly slip away and feel the hurt because you're powerless to change it. Losing the one you love from your life is never easy and you never forget." Her hand remained on his arm in quiet sympathy while she stared off for a moment.

_She should have known._

_ "Why do you keep shoving those Stephanie Wellborn letters in my face? Are you trying to draw me in with these letters like you did with those Helen Cadmus diaries? Yes, they're interesting, yes, they're mysterious and yes, there could be a case if we looked into it. But can't you see the work is piling up and I promised Buckley Chase I'd have that land contract completed by the end of the month," he snapped and suddenly stood, paced a few steps then stopped. Anxiously she watched and waited for his words, his decision to take on the Stephanie Wellborn mystery._

_Inhaling he seemed to be gathering strength for what he had to say. "Don't you understand, Della?" His eyes moved as though trying to find a better of way of expressing his feelings. "You should understand our lives have changed. Did you really think our special threesome would go on forever? Paul's gone and it will never be the same…..the magic that we had…..the magic we had in our lives….. it's gone."_

_ The bluntness and reality of his words sucked the air from her lungs and she felt faint. Bracing herself on the edge of his desk she watched as he tossed his notes on his desk and moved to the exit door and hesitated. Could there be possibly more reality?_

_Turning, he met her surprised stare with eyes moist and sparkling. "By the end of the month I need everything wrapped up, no new cases." _

_Della could hear her heart pounding in her ears and braced herself for more. _

_His fingers nervously twisted the knob and gathered the strength to continue. Eyes glistening, voice raspy, he stopped and cleared his voice before continuing with his statement. "I wanted you to know I've accepted the offer to fill the vacant seat on the Appeals Court….I've accepted the Judgeship."_

_Before she could catch her breath and speak he had slipped out the side door and was gone. Tears welled and overflowed._

'_A judgeship….you didn't even ask me what I wanted….you accepted…..and didn't even ask.' Dropping into the nearest chair, she gasped for more air and felt a spreading numbness. The smallest sounds filled her ears, Gertie's voice next door, the cars on the street below and the incessant ticking of the clock behind the desk threatened to drive her mad. Time seemed to stand still as his words endlessly passed through her mind. The office, cases, her work always brought her solace…..until now._

_Couldn't she sense the change….fewer dinners and nights together? Even in the same room, he seemed a million miles away and the night she found him sitting on the edge of their bed staring ahead. He claimed it was a headache. She'd known that wasn't the truth. A tiny voice from her subconscious, a voice of feminine intuition spoke to her. 'He freely announced the judgeship, but you know there's more.' Looking on with horror at the closed door she knew from years of knowing him intimately…..she could see it in his eyes and feel it in her heart. There was a niggling feeling that the man who she had shared so much of her life wasn't telling her everything…..there was more…..he was keeping a secret from her. _

Della softly sighed and slowly added, "And yet we go on. I guess we're tough, aren't we?"

Feeling her fingers on his forearm, he felt their shared pain and took note of her faraway look. Her words of comfort screamed for attention. 'Who had she lost? What loved one had slipped away? Was it a family member - no, she would have said so. A lover perhaps…..yes, the word heartache spoke volumes.' He wanted to cover her hand with his in a show of mutual understanding, but he cautiously refrained. Clearing his voice he replied, "Yeah, we're tough."

Stepping back, he reached for her coat and helped her slip on the garment allowing his hands to tenderly move across her shoulders smoothing out the fabric hoping to comfort her. "Well, Della! Where would you like to dine?"

Turning, looking up into his face, she managed a sweet smile. "You're the boss, I'll let you decide."

~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~

With its sharp, modern, and elegant lines, the interior of 'Ombien' appealed to Gordon's love of spacial order, while the Japanese, French and California cuisine catered to the executive's gourmet palate. From the moment they entered the restaurant the wait staff had been alerted and escorted the duo to Gordon's favorite table, a quiet corner with subdued lighting where a server immediately began to fill their every need.

Dispensing with the menus they enjoyed their wine, a rich, full bodied, Argento Cabernet Sauvignon. The engineer leaned back in the leather cushions and felt a sense of calm and mathematical order in the restaurant's modern interior and hushed environment. Servers in black and white bowed and whispered to the other patrons in the large yet intimate dining room.

In the opposite corner a young couple floated in their own little world, touching, exploring, their eyes never straying from the other. Gordon studied the lovers with envy then turned his attention to the woman who sat across from him. Her eyes stared off at some unknown vista, her slender fingers gingerly caressing the stem of the wine glass. What he wouldn't give to be like that young couple, to be able to touch the woman across from him and have her look into his eyes with love. Instead…

_ '_Her eyes and mind are a million miles away in another world and time. What could she be thinking?' He had seen this look so many times as they worked together and often wondered what those beautiful dark eyes were dreaming.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he took the liberty to visually enjoy every inch of her with bold abandon. The muted light highlighting a few stray strands of gray nestled in her dark wavy hair. Simple and elegant, a single strand of pearls and matching earrings accented her smoky gray double breasted suit. In the golden glow her skin was creamy, flawless… her features … perfection. Gordon was unaware her feminine perfection stealthily concealed a shrewd and observant mind trained by a master sleuth in deductive reasoning. Little did he know what his beautiful assistant's mind was busily unraveling at that very moment.

'What's wrong with his shoes and suit?' Della thought over and over as she studied the lone man across from them who pretended to study the menu. She'd seen him arrive as the valets parked their cars, and now he was seated with a clear view of their table. 'Oh, you're letting your imagination run wild. What would Paul say?'

_ Standing behind Perry's desk, hands on her hips, she shook her head. "It's not possible, Paul. How did they find our client? We were so careful. We weren't being followed."_

_ Draped across the overstuffed client chair, Drake grinned. "Alright, beautiful, it's time for a lesson from the master." Turning in the chair he leaned on the desk, playfully looked up and added. "You know if working for Perry gets old you could work for me, you'd be a great operative, you're a natural and not too bad to look at either."_

_ The secretary flashed a saucy grin. "You're always working an angle aren't you, Paul. O.K. I'm ready for the lesson, oh master."_

Silently, their servers arrived with the meal and in hushed tones catered to the diners' needs before nodding and bowing as they left their table.

"It's good to have you back," Gordon stated, watching Della rearrange the cloth napkin on her lap.

A small smile tugged at her lips. "I guess I'm not much company, I didn't realize how tired I am. It's been a long day and the wine…" Della finished the sentence with an aimlessly graceful gesture towards her glass.

Gordon sliced the waygu beef, tasted it and groaned. "Food of the gods!"

Della delicately used her fork to pull a small flake from her sesame crusted salmon, then gracefully took a bite. She did have to admit, this was far superior to the characterless casserole in the corner of her refrigerator.

"You should try the Matsusaka waygu beef, Della. It's the best in the world."

"You are certainly the gourmet carnivore," she chided.

"Extremely tender, the flavor is rich and buttery. You should try it you'll like it," he offered. Easily cutting a piece, he slid his plate across the table, encouraging her to sample it.

Taking the slice on her fork she placed it in her mouth. Gordon watched as she nodded and expressed her satisfaction with a soft feminine moan.

"I thought you'd like it." Taking another piece in his mouth, he slowly chewed and thought of her lips closing around the succulent meat with dreamy eyes and that soft moan that seemed to emanate deep beneath those silky pearls_. _'My god, she oozes sensuality without even knowing it.'

Sipping the wine, Della, again noticed the man at the other table, Mr. Shoes.

_Paul stood and began arranging items on Mason's desk while Della watched._

_ "O.K. the letter is Perry's vehicle traveling down the street. Now, the lighter, the pen, and the paper clip are my operatives." _

_Drake arranged the desk items around the letter, before, beside and behind. _

"_Each car has a radio and can communicate with the other drivers." _

_With the tip of his fingers he gestured to the objects as he narrated. _

"_Now, as you're driving along, these three cars will move around you like a swarm of bees. Notice how this car passes and seems to disappear while this car moves in to take its place while the other car hangs back and keeping you under surveillance." _

_Drake moved the items around the envelope in an elegant dance. _

"_The cars are constantly changing position in relationship to the traffic so your mark, in this case Perry, never catches on that he's being followed."_

_ Della shakes her head in disbelief. "Paul, I'm impressed. You're talents do extend beyond padding expense accounts."_

_ Drake grinned good-naturedly, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, sometimes I even impress myself."_

_ Laughing, she gave him a playful swat on the arm. _

A Mona Lisa smile appeared as she reminisced and she turned her attention again to Mr. Shoes sitting across from them. Drinking a martini, he occasionally looked around the room, then paused in the direction of the secluded bar area just off the main dining. The bar wasn't crowded and a lone man sat on the end closest to the main dining area. He, too, would occasionally scan the dining area and pause. 'Was that a gesture? Oh, you're imagining things. But what about those shoes?'

Gordon finished his wine and immediately a server appeared from nearby, bowing graciously, refilling the glass. The engineer nodded his head and waited for the server to disappear. Again, he found satisfaction in studying his companion - the small bites elegantly taken, chewed thoroughly, a thoughtful pause, the process repeated over and over again. She had training that was obvious.

He could envision a young Della Street, the debutante, making her entrance into high society. His eyes narrowed. No, she wasn't raised as a working girl, not like the girls he knew in his neighborhood. On Friday and Saturday nights the working girls in his neighborhood would race to the dance halls and gather in flocks, laughing and complaining about their jobs and bosses. Then on Monday morning they would catch buses back to those same jobs and bosses, and do it all over again till the next week-end. 'From debutante to working girl, I know what it's like to change your life so completely. I'm a rags to riches guy myself. But I wonder what reversal of fortune changed your life so many years ago?'

Holding the glass of wine to his lips, he contemplated the silky pearl earrings and necklace that highlighted her flawless beauty. The jewelry was expensive, yet understated. He wondered, 'Did Mason find you as fascinating and as enigmatic as I do? The man would have to be blind not to,' Gordon thought. He had to know.

"You miss it don't you?"

Della stalled, replaced her silverware, and again toyed with the stem of her wine glass before asking, "What do I miss?"

"You know…. your life as Mason's secretary."

Gordon had finished his waygu steak and spring vegetables fricassee. Swirling the red wine around in his glass he watched her.

"I don't understand," she replied coyly.

A server appeared and immediately cleared his plate from the table giving her a momentary reprieve, but Gordon was persistent.

"Perry Mason," he announced. "I think I'm like everyone in the city, or even the state for that matter. We all followed his exciting and colorful career. The newspapers loved him, a defense lawyer specializing in murder; you can't get any seamier than that. And if memory serves me right, it seems the cases were never routine. They always contained the most unusual elements making them a favorite of any reporter or editor and guaranteed their placement on the front page. Wasn't the D.A. always hoping to clip the wings on the brash, legal eagle? If you were to ask anyone on the street who they would want defending them in court they would quickly reply, Mason." Gordon grinned as he swirled the wine around in his glass. "I know I remember my first encounter with Perry Mason."

Eyelashes fluttering, she managed a faint smile, and softly responded, "And how did you meet?"

Gordon chuckled, and looked off for a moment, gathering a mental picture and began his narrative. "I remember I was down town. My driver was late, and I was rushing to the courthouse, had some darn contract thing going on down there. I was trying to hail a taxi. I remember the place was a mad house; people were swarming everywhere and were lined up along the curb trying to wave in a cab. A car swung to the curb and I thought I was in luck. When I grabbed for the handle there was a hand next to mine." He laughed again and shook his head. "I believe you know me will enough, Della. I'm not a man who backs down. Both of our hands stayed on the handle. We were neck and neck, shoulder to shoulder. I remember checking him out and thinking this guy is impressive; intense, hypnotic blue eyes, tall, broad shoulders, built like a wrestler and he's glaring at me and not backing down. Hell, we fiercely stared at each other, until the driver started yelling that the meter was running."

Della felt the Mona Lisa smile returning.

"I could tell he was a fighter. The man was tenacious, I could see it in his eyes, and I'm sure anyone on the stand could see it too. No wonder those witnesses would wilt beneath that penetrating gaze. But then the most amazing thing happened. Those intense blue eyes began to soften and a slight smile formed on his lips and suddenly he was Mr. Charisma.

"Mason asked in a smooth baritone, 'Going to the courthouse?' I merely nodded. 'Get in!' he invites. He releases the handle, I slide in, followed by Mr. Charisma and we're off to the courthouse. We exchange names and pleasantries on the way. The man oozes charm and I could feel him working his magic during our cab ride. I left him in the lobby. He was in a hurry. He said he was going upstairs, and had to meet his secretary before court began."

Gordon smiled across the table at Della. "Of course, now I know that secretary was you."

A slow flush spread across her chest, to her neck and face and Della felt an unusual elation as Gordon related their encounter.

"Tell me, Della, what was it like being Mason's secretary?"

Eyelashes fluttering, a lopsided little grin appeared and for a moment she felt light-headed. Inhaling deeply she was able to regain her composure. "Being Perry Mason's secretary….well….it was the defining moment of my life…it was magical." Della's eyes glanced down at the ring on her finger and added, "Yes, it was magical…like those dinners you had with your family."

Gordon softly gasped and without thinking reached across the table and took her hand in his and felt the strength and softness of this remarkable woman. What had he done? Paula was a self-inflicted wound. In a moment of loneliness and need he had married Paula without a prenuptial agreement, he was trapped. He stared at his hand covering hers and felt a juvenile joy that she had not pulled away from him and that her hand remained. Della felt an unusual bond and comfort in Gordon's gesture.

The gesture had not gone unnoticed by the man seated across from them. Della's quick glance caught Mr. Shoes staring at their clasped hands. The man's look set off alarms of intuition and like an all-encompassing epiphany everything became crystal clear. _She would be this way forever; the way she lived, breathed, and thought….she would always be Perry Mason's secretary. Years of being with him, thinking like him and working at his side in their lifelong dance…..he would be with her always. _With renewed spirit, Della locked eyes with the voyeur and drew them to the floor to his own shoes.

'You should know, a man who can afford to dine at Ombien wouldn't be caught dead in those shoes, scuffs and all,' she silently communicated.

Mr. Shoes pulled his foot beneath the booth and glanced back to see if he had lost her attention. Much to his dismay he was met with her radiant smile and a saucy wink, and to his horror her lips mouthed, "Gotcha!"

Never missing a beat, she turned her attention back to her companion and squeezed his hand, and gently slipped her fingers from his grasp. "You don't need to feel sorry for me, Arthur," she stated huskily, "I'm old enough, tough enough and surly enough to handle whatever comes my way." From the corner of her eye she watched Mr. Shoes retreating to the foyer.

Hearing his own words thrown back at him, Gordon chuckled. "Has anyone told you what a remarkable woman you are?"

"Certainly not you," Della replied, playfully challenging him.

Gordon's eyes widened slightly, enjoying the game she was playing and chuckled. "Certainly not you," he repeated her words. "Certainly not me, I like that."

Emitting a throating laugh, Della confidently leaned back in the cushions, and smiled. "I thought you would."

Meanwhile in Palm Springs…..and elsewhere…..

~~~tbc~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**The Arthur Gordon Years**

**Riddles & Retrospections**

_Desert Springs Resort & Spa, Palm Springs_

'No visible facelift scars along the hairline, good work, Dr. Steinberg.' Experienced eyes checked the cheek and jawline of the blonde nearby who reclined on her stomach in a French cut bikini revealing a pair of shapely legs and round buttocks. 'But, oh, how dreadful, look at that area of cellulite developing. You'll need to see Dr. Russo very soon my dear Madie,' the queen mused.

Paula Gordon, the queen, sat aristocratically posed on a navy recliner surrounded by her adoring court. Shielded from the evening sun by a wide-brimmed hat, the movement of the queen's eyes were discreetly concealed by a pair of large white designer sunglasses. Sipping a Bombay Martini, reading the latest edition of _Vogue_, she continued to clandestinely inspect the women surrounding her. The six women in her court ranged from early thirties to late forties all in relationships of some kind, and all looking to improve their social status with a new and improved boyfriend or husband. Catching that new and improved model was a very competitive activity in the trophy wife coterie.

The brunette on her left lay provocatively with one leg bent, arms extended over her head thrusting her new implants up for all to see. Again the experienced eye inspected the surgeon's handiwork. 'They're holding up well, yes, nice and perky…wait a minute. One is noticeably larger than the other. Oh, it must be a Shankman! Poor Millie, didn't she get the word? Shankman's been up to his ass in malpractice suits!'

A contented smile spread across the queen's lips knowing her assets were hers and hers alone. She had seen too many dreadful liposuction scars, fat cells injected into swollen pouters and silicone curdles to last a lifetime. No Drs. Shankman, Russo, Edgar 'Eager' Krieger, or Max 'the knife' Steinberg for this body. Oh, certainly a little Botox for maintenance was needed to wipe away those little frowns. She hated frowns and the people who caused them.

Stretching in the chair like a contented feline she enjoyed these little outings with her clique of up and coming F. F. H. or _Forbes Four Hundred aspirers. _Paula's smile deepened knowing that she, the queen, was the only woman in the group whose husband truly belonged to the _Forbes Four Hundred. _ Arthur Gordon was number three hundred and fifty, and if she played her cards right, _she_ would be number three hundred and fifty someday. One day Arthur Gordon Industries would be all _hers_. Paula fought the broad smile and the wrinkles they might cause. 'No wonder they admire me so. They wish they could have my life. Clustered around me today, my friends can only hope to learn from the queen of everything._' _ Of course the term 'friends' was used loosely, because if push came to shove, any aspiring F. F. H. member would eagerly 'shove' the other under the bus for a chance to advance. And many members were doing just that on their way up the food chain, trading in old boyfriends and husbands for newer upwardly mobile models who were destined to cross the line and join the four hundred most wealthy in America.

Moving the olive around in her nearly exhausted drink, Paula felt very smug. After properly mourning her elderly first husband she bought apartments in Paris, Tokyo, and New York just to be near the latest fashions and to travel the world exhausting large sums of money and assets from her late husband's estate. Then one day, to her consternation, her accountant informed her she was close to being poor, rather 'rich poor'. The thought of being down to her last five million was frightening and meant drastic measures and - as destiny would have it - a stroke of fate. She had the good fortune to meet and befriend society maven, Bee Bee Buchanan.

_Bee Bee sat primly on a brocaded couch caressing the silken fur of her beloved Maltese, Lady Victoria. The social maven regally wore a simple navy Chanel dress with matching pearls. Paula sat on a matching ottoman at the elderly woman's feet like a commoner having an audience with the Queen Mother or in this case Queen Bee Bee. The nearly broke, or 'poor rich', Paula was elated to be invited to an exclusive charity dinner hosted by the glamorous lady._

"_Paula, dear, I've placed you next to Phillip Rasmussen. You know Phil; he's a wonderful conversationalist and a fabulous 'extra man'." Bee Bee loved Phillip; he was her arm candy at all the society and dinner functions. His role was to keep the conversations lively, fill those extra seats at her dinner parties and provide the elderly mistress with male companionship at those charity balls. _

_Paula found Phillip a little over the top but benignly pleasant. Patiently she waited while Bee Bee straightened the bow on Lady Victoria's head before turning to face her eager student. "On the other side I've placed__,__ widower, Arthur Gordon, of Gordon Industries."_

_Without thinking, Paula rolled her eyes and moaned. Bee Bee clucked softly and shook her head._

"_Oh please, a widower with three children!" The younger woman protested._

_The elderly madame faintly smiled at her ingénue and with a motherly air advised. "My dear, Paula, Arthur Gordon may be a gruff and abrasive father of three, but he's on the verge of being number four hundred on Forbes Four Hundred. The man is lonely, riddled with guilt and saddled with three children. He's in a situation where he not likely to ask for a pre-nup. He's ripe for the taking. You can't go wrong, darling."_

The grand dame was right, she couldn't go wrong. Gordon was guilt ridden and lonely. Her years of marriage purgatory were well spent as Gordon Industries moved up the list of F. F. H. and Gordon's children moved out of the house.

Katherine, the oldest, constantly irritated her father, blaming him for the death of her mother. Years of psychotherapy had hardly put a dent in her animosity. The young woman used her blatant promiscuity to aggravate and alienate the elder Gordon.

Rebellious playboy, David Gordon, used his father's money to advance his hedonistic lifestyle and desire for quick and easy money.

Lauren, the youngest, was shy, reserved and a bit of a daddy's girl. Her marriage to Chris, the tennis pro caught her father by surprise. Immediately, the elder Gordon became suspicious of the tennis pro's womanizing ways and became protective of his youngest child.

Paula found them easy to ignore and manipulate, always pitting one child against the other. The three children were a constant irritation to their father. Coupled with Arthur's drinking, cigar smoking and rich gourmet diet the environmental factors were quickly taking their toll on his life span. A factor Paula found encouraging.

The Arthur Gordon Foundation was created after Gordon's net worth placed him comfortably at three hundred fifty. Through Kenneth Braddock's office and the attorney's assistance she was designated the administrator for the foundation. Suddenly she had access to vast sums of money designated for research and development as well as beaucoup amounts of publicity. The foundation was a godsend. Little did Arthur know that when he put her in charge that he had given Paula power and publicity, the perfect bait for landing a newer and wealthier husband?

Looking around at her competition, she was pleased she still had extraordinary good looks, no ghastly stretch marks, unsightly incisions, or botched procedures. She was a trophy any man would desire. She knew how to make an entrance and turn heads. Men of the F. F. H. while showing others their new three million dollar yachts, floating condominiums, loved to turn heads with their drop dead gorgeous wives, further showing their prowess extended beyond their boardrooms to their bedrooms. Appearances were essential. Paula faintly smiled and thought of Arthur's prowess in the bedroom. He was a skilled and unselfish lover making her time in purgatory a little less unpleasant, but still…

All was going well and according to plan until, 'she' appeared. A frown began to tug at the corner of Paula's eyes and across her forehead and she quickly forced the muscles to relax…..can't have wrinkles there. It had never been a problem before…..Arthur's secretaries. His gruff, abrupt and demanding manner created a revolving door of secretaries. None ever stayed long enough to become a problem….until now.

Gordon's home office was grand and spacious. Then suddenly extra work space was created near the CEO's mahogany desk for more feminine furnishings. Again she frowned and strained to relax. At this rate a visit to Andre would be necessary for Botox touch-up injections before leaving Palm Springs. 'Wrinkles, frown lines…..she couldn't let herself go….she had competition.'

It was bad enough when 'that woman'was Arthur's secretary. 'Am I being punished from above?' Paula's eyes rolled to the heavens as though looking for a vengeful deity. If that wasn't enough to create monstrous frown lines, her ass of a husband had promoted this woman to be his executive assistant with her own damn secretary. Then the final straw! The bastardhad the gall, the nerve to create office space for 'her'in their home. Her fingers circled the stem of the martini glass like a fist and fought the urge to break it over the head of the young man who was politely leaning down with a phone cradled in his hand.

"Madame, you have a phone call from a Mr. Oswald."

Wordlessly she extended her hand for the phone. 'Damn,' she thought, 'so this little male hottie thinks I'm old enough to be a Madame and now Oswald's calling. Wasn't the day bad enough with that damn sand trap and the breaking of two expensively manicured nails? None of those damn fruity drinks will do.' From behind gritted teeth she managed a syrupy smile and ordered. "I need a double vodka tonic, and hurry kid."

The young man in the white shirt, bow tie and black pants, abruptly straightened and stood at attention. His dark eyes widened. "Yes, madame, but first your call." Quickly he turned and scurried to the nearest phone jack before disappearing inside the clubhouse.

Paula felt all eyes swivel to her; some from behind sunglasses, others from beneath the cover of broad brimmed hats and a few from behind fashion magazines, but all eyes were focused on the queen's urgent phone call. She enjoyed the attention while simultaneously coveting the young server's firm buttocks as he hustled to the bar. Maybe with her next change of fortune she would also upgrade to a much, much, younger man.

Turning her attention again to the phone she picked up the receiver. "Hello, this is Paula Gordon." An operator connected them, and a masculine voice began. Paula listened and watched the anxious eyes and faces, all waiting to hear her side of some new drama. Mr. Oswald's report was concise and brief. She battled to relax, fighting those frown lines and wrinkles. The male voice continued as the queen's court leaned closer hoping to hear a shred of gossip.

The queen forced a smile and cheerfully replied. "You've done a splendid job and, yes, I would like for you to continue your services as we discussed." The phone squawked again before she slowly hung up.

Another frown developed, definitely Botox tomorrow adding insult to injury. The final insult, why did 'that woman'have to be so classically beautiful?

_Regally she floated down the hall to her husband's office, passing workers carrying furniture and office equipment. She heard a smooth, silky feminine voice from inside Arthur's grand office. The office reeked of masculinity with floor to ceiling bookshelves, a massive mahogany desk and black leather chairs. A space was being created near the male edifice, a smaller more feminine space._

_Caught off guard and totally stunned, Paula walked in the office and watched as her husband and an attractive woman stood behind his desk, side-by-side. Like mirrored images their arms, head and shoulders moved like dancers as they pointed and looked over the large blue print spread out on Gordon's desk. _

"_This is a wonderful use of this space, there will be so little waste," Della commented, pointing to a section of the drawing. Gordon leaned closer to his assistant, their shoulders touching. He grinned and nodded. "Good catch. I was thinking the same thing, Della."_

_Paula cleared her voice loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the workers removing packaging. _

_The pair looked up and easily smiled._

"_Good morning, Mrs. Gordon," Della politely greeted._

_Standing in the doorway Paula's smile was icy, her eyes glacial. Without uttering a word she turned and walked back into the hallway. Gordon swiftly joined her in the hallway and closed the door for privacy._

_Hand on her hip, jaw clinching, she waved to his inner office and asked through gritted teeth. "Why is 'that woman' in my house?"_

"_We're looking over the blue-prints for our building expansion. She has some very creative ideas. I like them."_

_Not to be ignored, Paula Gordon leaned closer to her husband and asked again. "Why is 'that woman' in my house?"_

_Gordon abruptly stopped, straightened and glared at her. Authoritatively he announced, "Della Street is my executive assistant and you will be civil to her. I won't tolerate your rudeness." _

"_Humph," Paula uttered and turned on her heel. "We'll see."_

The young server in the tight black pants returned with her drink. Paula was so annoyed she didn't even check his tight little rear as he swiftly departed with the phone.

'We'll see. Yes, we'll see, Della Street. Executive assistant my ass! It's bad enough that 'her' office is connected to his. And now he has the nerve to create an office for 'her' in my house!'Drumming her fingers on the drink glass, she watched her court from behind her dark lenses and pulled her lips into a fake smile just for them. 'What's next? Will he move 'her' into our bedroom! I think not!'

'I have a call to make and I won't make it here. I need to call my dear husband.'Picking up her double vodka tonic for fortification she elegantly rose from her lounge chair and announced.

"Ladies, I'm tired. I'll be in my room."

~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~

_Meanwhile at Ombien….._

Arthur Gordon didn't mind that their laughter shattered the hushed and orderly ambience of the restaurant. Taking the edge of the cloth napkin Della wiped the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. He had no idea his question would lead to such revelry and a flood of stories from her fascinating life.

The CEO's smile slowly disappeared as he watched a server silently approaching with a phone.

Della watched with concern as the young man bowed politely and whispered to her companion before gracefully placing the phone on the table and connecting the jack.

"Gordon," The executive briskly announced.

A soft feminine voice emanated from the instrument. Della waited patiently, while Gordon's face became poker hard. Finally he authoratively announced. "I'm not discussing this now. We'll talk when you arrive home. Goodnight."

Swiftly he placed the receiver and watched as the young server swept in and removed the phone from the table.

"Is everything alright? Do you need to go home?" Della asked with concern.

Gordon smiled again and reached across the table and delicately gave her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance then released it.

"No, I don't need to go home. It's nothing, Della, don't worry about it. Nothing will spoil our time together."

A server silently moved in and replenished their wine and disappeared.

Gordon raised his glass for a toast and watched as Della lifted her glass to his.

"To an unstoppable team…..may it never end."

Touching glasses, they enjoyed the wine and the toast.

Leaning back in the leather cushion, Gordon sighed with contentment. "Now, Della, let's finish that story."

Leaning across the table, she smiled and whispered as though sharing a secret, "Oh, that story! You mean when we found the body in the freezer."

His dark eyes sparked with excitement. With a mischievous grin and an air of conspiracy, Gordon leaned across the table to join her. "Yeah, that's the story," he whispered. "Tell me all about it!"

~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~DS~~~

_Elsewhere_…..

The sound of the crashing surf drifted up the sheer rock face to the luxurious beachside mansion. In the dimmed upstairs bedroom, lovers, their limbs intertwined, lay exhausted from their lovemaking. Gently, their fingers continued to stroke and caress, their breathing falling in synch with the rhythm of the waves striking the rocks below.

Suddenly the phone rang on the bedside table. Anxious eyes turned to the instrument and finally a feminine voice spoke.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"It's your phone."

"Are you afraid it's your wife?"

Snapping back, he replied, "Then I guess you're afraid it's your father?"

A slender arm reached across his chest for the phone. "Don't be silly. I could care less if my father calls. But what about you, Counselor, your presence here could be awkward?"

Picking up the receiver she answered. "Hello."

The attorney enjoyed the feel of her soft firm breasts pressed against him creating renewed excitement. The thought quickly vanished thinking of Arthur Gordon's scathing words and scrutiny.

Leaning back with the receiver, she announced. "It's for you, it's your service."

Nodding, remembering his instructions, he took the receiver and announced his presence. "Braddock."

Katherine settled back on the bed as her lover rolled on his side facing away from her to continue his conversation. Stretching, the pleasure endorphins waning, the need for a cigarette kicked in. Rolling to the side, she opened the drawer to her night stand. The gleam from her gold lighter and the blue metallic sheen from the 32 caliber pistol caught her eye. Picking up the lighter her fingers lovingly ran along the pearl handle before collecting the cigarette case. Taking out a cigarette and flipping open the lighter, she ignited the tip and watched the gold light flash across the pearl handle and remembered the night…..

_Staring in the mirror she inspected the bruises on her face and arms. The application of make-up dimmed, but didn't eliminate their presence. Only time would heal the wounds of their messy break-up. Bruce, the stock trader, wasn't ready to move on and took her dismissal of their relationship as a personal affront to his masculinity and decided to teach her a lesson. The last week had been difficult applying make-up and avoiding close friends who would want to pry._

_Suddenly the doorbell rang and she jumped. Was it Bruce ready for another round? Silently she crept to the door and looked through the round opening. Arthur Gordon stood nervously on the other side, shirt collar open, tie loosely draped around his neck, obviously he had just left his office at the institute._

"_Damn," she muttered and considered ignoring him. Her insides began to churn like a cauldron with a wild mix of love and hate rising and falling in the bitter stew. Without further thought, her fingers unlocked the door and stood face to face with her father. Putting up a bold front she unceremoniously announced, "Oh, it's you!"_

_Gordon immediately took offense. "I knew this was a mistake," he snapped and began to walk off._

_Katherine was surprised when she heard herself saying, "Don't leave, come in."_

_He paused for a moment, then turned. She stood to the side and allowed him to enter. Gordon walked in and scanned the spacious great room with a windowed panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. _

_Following her father, Katherine continued to snipe, "Don't worry, you're not interrupting one of my one-night-stands, if that's what you're worried about."_

"_Look," Gordon raised his voice. "I didn't come here for that."_

"_Then why are you here?"_

_Nervously the CEO cast his eyes down to his shoes and answers softly. "Why am I here? It's ironic how you have your mother's good looks and my wicked sharp tongue. The irony of genetics I suppose. Considering our pasts, I guess I deserve all your comments." His voice trailed off, but Katherine didn't continue her tirade. During their uneasy silence the sound of the surf wafted through the open window._

_Shuffling his feet, Gordon's fingers nervously ran over the smooth paper on the gift box cradled in his hand. The young woman's eyes were drawn to it._

"_I know your birthday's not for another week…..not that you plan on making me a part of it…..that special day when you came into my life. Your mother and I thought you were the most beautiful little girl in the world. We were so nervous knowing you were all ours and feared we would not live up to the responsibility of being your parents."_

_The cauldron boiled with love and hate, and nervous fingers ran across the bruises on her wrist. Despite all the psychotherapy sessions, her father's words easily penetrated Katherine's protective veneer. _

_Nervously, he produced the box._

_One last desperate jab, she sniped. "Did Della Street put you up to this? Is she trying to 'polish' your 'rough' edges, make you a better father - if that's possible."_

_Gordon seemed genuinely hurt and snapped. "No, Della didn't put me up to this. I don't have to take this!" _

_Katherine watched him move to the door. 'There you've pierced his heart, are you satisfied, you've accomplished your goal. Now let him go!' an inner voice cheered. Again, a subconscious force caused her to reach out and touch his arm, a force that realized she didn't want him to leave._

_Through anguished eyes, he looked at her and confided. "I know you hate me, but I still want to be your father."_

_Katherine expressed her resignation with a heavy exaggerated sigh. "O.K. I'm listening. I guess all those years of psychotherapy have paid off after all."_

_He handed the box to his estranged daughter and watched her unwrap it. Slipping the cover to the side, a blue gleam caught her eye, then the rich pearl handle. A 32 caliber pistol. Taking the pistol in her hand she tossed the box to the side. Feeling the weight of the firearm she aimed the pistol around the room while an evil smile spread across her lips._

"_A pearl handle, you always said I had expensive taste. You know a few years back I would have taken this gun and shot you….." She watched his face for a reaction and found none. "…..then I would have taken the gun and turned it on myself." His poker face didn't surprise her and only encouraged her to continue. "But then…..you know that don't you?"_

_Gordon's smile was bittersweet. "Yes, I guess I've always known that. Katherine, I've always been saddened that I couldn't always protect you from life's cruelty. I hope this helps. I know you might find it hard to believe, but after all we've been through, I still love you."_

Katherine felt a hot tear slipping down her cheek as a cloud of smoke drifted to the ceiling. Pushing the drawer closed she heard Kenneth Braddock's voice speaking into the phone. "Yeah, she's going to be a problem. I know, she's becoming his right arm. Keep watching, but stay low. Don't worry I'll think of something. I'll think of a solution."

~~~fini…..for now~~~


End file.
